The Healing Touch
by hopeless3
Summary: Skids has an accident and a revelation. More serious than my last fic, but don't worry. I'm no fan of angst, especially between my two favorite guys.
1. Default Chapter

Chapter One  
  
Cyanide Torres stood just outside the door of room 309 in the hospital corridor, trying to compose himself before he entered. He knew that traces of disappointment and anger, his prevailing emotions of the past hour, were still evident on his face, and he didn't want to take any chances on upsetting the patient inside.  
  
The patient inside.....of their own volition, Cyanide's eyes drifted to the small gray placard hanging beside the door, and he read it, mouthing the words silently to himself: "Gio DiAngelo."  
  
Cy shook his head. This had to be at least the fifteenth time he'd seen the same words printed there, and they still didn't make any sense to him. Gio DiAngelo. Skids. *Skids*. In the *hospital*. It was just so *wrong*. He couldn't picture Skids in this cold, sterile, blindingly white environment, surrounded by death and disease, and he couldn't imagine how the doctors thought his best friend could heal here. Didn't they understand that someone like Skids needed life and light and *color*?   
  
And, he thought, any anger that might have dissipated rushing back full force, didn't Harley understand that right now he also needed his friends? Didn't he get that Skids would need a lot of support and encouragement to speed his recovery and, hopefully, his escape from this antiseptic hell?  
  
Apparently not. He could still hear the excitement in the little blonde's voice when he'd greeted Cy with, "Hey! Oh, I forgot to call you! Damn! I knew there was something I didn't do. Well, anyway, I'm not going to be able to go see Skids with you. Mik surprised me this morning by telling me that he was taking me on a picnic in the park." The blue eyes went dreamy. "Isn't that romantic?"  
  
"Romantic?" Cy had spluttered. "But--but--dude, our best friend is in the hospital because of a major car wreck. Don't you think that's just a little more important?"  
  
Harley sighed impatiently. "I was afraid that you'd be this way about it. Look, Cya--"  
  
"There's no possible way you can justify this," Cy'd cut in, his friend's stoicism having served to turn his shock to anger. "Skids is in the hospital, man. The *hospital*. Because some idiot out there didn't hit the brakes when he should have. He's hurt because of that. And now you're refusing to even visit him?"  
  
Harley had scowled slightly. "It's not like that, and you know it, dude. The doctors said that the injuries aren't that serious, and he should be out in a few more days. I'll go before he's released. Plus, I've already been three times, and I hate the hospital."  
  
Cy had simply stared at his friend for a minute, not quite believing what he was hearing. Okay, so maybe it was true that Skids' injuries weren't anything very awful, and a full recovery was expected. And maybe it was true that Harley had already been to see him. But still. This was Skids. He couldn't even begin to count all the times that he'd needed a friend, and Skids had always been there for him with a quiet word, a hug, and that ever-present thousand-watt smile. The indignation that thought brought with it was enough to rouse Cy from his temporary speechlessness. "So what? I hate hospitals more than anyone else I know, and I've practically lived there for the past five days."  
  
When Harley opened his mouth again to defend himself, Cy held up a hand. "No. I don't want to hear it. Skids doesn't ask for much, Harley. He just wants a little time with his friends, a hug every now and then, and some crayons, and he's happy. And look at what he gives in return. He'll go along with whatever scheme we cook up, no matter how crazy it is, just because it's something we want to do. He's always willing to give adivce or offer a shoulder to cry on. You remember when he almost sacrificed himself and stripped at the gig? Or when he saved us from the bullies when we were freshmen? He's always doing stuff like that, and maybe you don't notice, but I do. Skids has got the biggest heart of anyone I know, and I'm NOT going to let him go through this thing alone."   
  
The words had come out without Cy's even having thought about them, had come out hard and fast. And Harley's eyes had gotten a little bigger with each one of them, until he was gaping silently at Cyanide, who finally ran out of steam and decided to settle for actively glaring at his friend.   
  
For a few, shocked moments, there was perfect silence. Then Harley'd said softly, "You love him, don't you," and it hadn't even been a question. Cy had recognized the dawning realization in his eyes and known it was pointless to lie. And in a way, he was glad. He was tired of lying. To his family, to his friends and most of all, to himself.  
  
"More than you'd believe," he'd answered, and he'd left then, left to come here.  
  
Here. Cy sighed and raked a hand through his spiked hair. He hadn't been exaggerating about the amount of time he'd been spending at the hospital. Since the accident, he'd only left to shower and pick up a change of clothe. And, well, last night he'd gone home to get a decent night's sleep, but only because Skids insisted. Cy suspected his friend might have seen through his assertion that the rock-hard little vinyl couch in the hospital room was comfortable.  
  
Cy smiled. Yeah. That was his Skids. He saw through the walls people put up around themselves, saw through the protective lies and straight to their hearts. He was so--  
  
"Ahem."  
  
Cy jumped at the sound of a throat being cleared behind him, and he spun around to find himself facing a rather formidable-looking nurse whose raised eyebrows told him he'd been grinning foolishly at the door for a bit too long.   
  
"Were you going to go inside, sir, or stand out here all day?" she asked in tones of barely controlled suspicion, and Cyanide mentally rolled his eyes. You'd think that after five straight days, they'd realize that he wasn't going to beat any patients to death with his choker or anything.  
  
"I was just thinking," he answered evasively, and, after eyeing him distrustfully for a moment, the nurse turned away and strode off down the hall.  
  
Cy let all the tension go out of his shoulders and turned back to the door. As mistaken as the woman might be in her impression of him, she was right about one thing. He needed to get back in there and make sure Skids was still okay. Anything could have happened overnight, and he wasn't prepared to take any chances. Not anymore.   
  
  
  
Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped inside. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two  
  
When Skids DiAngelo opened his eyes, he was immediately aware of three very important factors:  
  
1.He hurt *everywhere*, and he had a desperate craving for morphine.  
  
2.Cyanide Torres' face was hovering approximately four inches away from his own, his dark eyes intent and the corners of his mouth turned   
  
down anxiously.  
  
3.He wanted to kiss said mouth even more than he wanted the analgesic, which was, all things considered, a helluva lot.  
  
He was moving to follow through with that last idea before he could stop himself, pushing up so fast that his muscles howled indignantly and his injuries throbbed viciously, and it was probably only the pain that saved him. It stopped him, made him pause for a fraction of a second in his upward surge, and it brought him back to reality.   
  
Reality was a cool, white hospital room with the curtains at the windows drawn back to let sunlight in. Reality was the thin cotton hospital gown he was wearing and the lumpy, uncomfortable hospital bed he was lying in. Reality was the smell of medicine mixed with some stale, sickly scent that he had yet to identify, and the quiet beep and hum of machines. Reality was the shocked look on the beautiful face so close to his and the certain knowledge that he *couldn't* kiss Cyanide, no matter how much he might want to.  
  
Reality really sucked.  
  
Be that as it may, he had to deal with it the best he could, just like everyone else. And one thing he couldn't deal with was his best friend hating him, which would surely happen if he continued on the path he was on right now. So. He had the choice of flopping back onto the bed and pretending nothing had happened, which just make what he had intended even more painfully obvious, or he could freeze in midair and hope that Cy thought he was.....stretching or something. As if anyone in the immediate solar system stretched that fast.  
  
Hmmm. Decisions, decisions.  
  
Unfortunately, Skids' brain didn't work too well under pressure, so he ended up going with neither of these options. Instead, acting half on his strong sense of self-preservation and half on the even stronger desire to find out if Cya tasted half as delicious as he looked, he changed direction midway through his lunge, and brushed his lips against his friend's cheek instead.  
  
Soft and smooth and sweet as honey, if honey could make a person's head spin, and for a moment, Skids seriously considered pulling Cy down into the tiny hospital bed with him, consequences be damned. He probably would have acted on that impulse too, but his common sense (what little he possessed, anyway) came to the fore and ordered him to lie back down before he completely humiliated himself. Reluctantly, the rest of him conceded that that was probably the best course of action at the moment, and he obeyed.  
  
Only to find Cya staring at him, his brow furrowed and his expression unreadable. Greeeeeeeat. He'd done his best to divert disaster, and it had happened anyway.  
  
Skids considered apologizing, but that would just give what he'd done even more significance. Plus, he didn't think he could force anything sound out of his dry throat right now. Instead, he settled for staring straight back at Cy and concentrating hard on sending his thoughts through telepathy. Hey, anything was possible, and it was a lot less embarrassing than saying the words out loud. 'I'm sorry, really, Cya. I just got carried away. It won't happen again, I promise. I don't want to kiss you anymore. No! No!'  
  
The dark eyes narrowed a tiny bit.  
  
'Well, okay, yes, I do. But I won't! I promise! Only don't be mad at me, okay?'  
  
Cy opened his mouth and took a deep breath, and the sound was like an explosion in the silence. It awakened something deep within Skids, something wild and panicky that made him want to jump up and run from the room, revealing hospital gown and all. Fear twisted in his gut, fear of the searching, intense look on his friend's face, fear that made him want to scream as loud as he could just to keep himself from hearing what Cy was about to say.   
  
Oh God. He didn't want to be hurt any more.  
  
"Skids--"  
  
  
  
"I missed you lots, Cya," Skids found himself murmuring, and he knew he had interrupted, but somehow it was too urgent to wait. Somehow it had to be said before Cy finished his sentence, or it might never be said at all. And it was far too important to be kept quiet.  
  
There was a tiny, tense pause during which they stared at each other silently and Skids felt his heartbeats slow until he could count each of them individually, feel each one reverberating throughout his body, and the panic in his stomach rose insidiously to claw at his throat.  
  
Then Cyanide's expression suddenly softened into a smile, making everything friendly, familiar, and Skids didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved.  
  
  
  
"I missed you too, amigo. In fact," Cy laughed slightly, "I got less sleep in my own bed than I did here. I was up all night worrying that you would die from being forced to consume whatever the hospital calls supper without me here to bring you fast food."  
  
"Well," Skids replied thoughtfully, "it was pretty bad, but they gave me Jello for dessert. So I survived."  
  
"Thank God for Jello." Cya hesitated, and Skids watched, mildly fascinated, as his brow furrowed. "But was it okay other than the food? You're not in more pain than you were yesterday?"  
  
  
  
Skids paused for an instant, taking stock. Now that he had assumed control of his hormones (well, most of them, at any rate) and stopped lunging around wildly, the pain had subsided a bit, and, considering what he'd felt like less than a week ago, it wasn't too bad. His shoulder, which had been dislocated, was still a little sensitive, but nothing major, and the sprained right knee was also feeling better. The huge bruise on his thigh was starting to fade a bit at the edges too. Even added in with all his cuts and scrapes and a general soreness, he was still doing pretty good. "I feel better. The nurse told me last night that she thinks I'll be released any day now."  
  
Cyanide's face darkened. "The little blonde? That nurse?" Then, when Skids nodded, he demanded, "What else did she say?"  
  
"Um......not much," Skids replied, suddenly unsure. He'd thought Cya would be happy that they would both be going home to stay soon, but, judging from the scowl on his face, he was anything but. "She just told me to have a good night and said she'd try to bring me a doughnut from the bakery down the street this morning, because the breakfast here is disgusting."  
  
  
  
"And did she?" Cyanide growled, turning to pace the room, his strides short and agitated.  
  
"Well, yeah," Skids answered, confused. What was so wrong with the nurse bringing him a doughnut? He'd paid her for it, so it wasn't charity or pity or anything. She was just being friendly. "I thought it was very nice of her."  
  
"Yes, her little plan seems to be working just dandy," Cya muttered under his breath, continuing to pace.   
  
"What?" Okay, his friend was officially raving. Probably all the sleep he hadn't been getting. Maybe he could subtly push the call button and get someone to sedate the poor guy before he really hurt himself....  
  
"Don't you see?" Cyanide burst out, whirling around suddenly in his pacing, startling Skids out of his sympathetic thoughts and causing his eyes to widen in alarm. "She's acting like she's all sunshine and light and considers it a privilege to bring you doughnuts, but in fact she only wants to get into your pants!"  
  
"I don't have any pants," Skids pointed out dryly.  
  
"Well, gown then. The principal's the same!"  
  
  
  
Skids giggled. He knew he shouldn't, not when Cy was so upset, but he couldn't help it. The thought of the blonde nurse hitting on him by bringing him actual edible food was just ridiculous. "Yeah," he snorted, "next thing you know, she'll be bringing me roses from the gift shop!"   
  
  
  
Cy, looking offended, had just opened his mouth to respond when the door swung and open and the nurse in question came bustling in: a short, petite little thing with long, wavy blonde hair and big blue eyes. In her arms she carried an arrangement of flowers.  
  
Skids gulped as Cya's face went from aggrieved to enraged in the blink of an eye.  
  
"Hello again," Blondie said cheerfully, and then, apparently not noticing his thunderous expression, "Oh, and hello, Mr.Torres. These were ordered for you, Gio, from someone named Tybalt, who included a message that he will stop by to see you later today."  
  
  
  
Skids shot Cya an "I-told-you-so" look and heaved an inward sigh of relief. Not that the girl wasn't pretty or nice. She was both. In fact, she was basically a female Harley, at least in looks. But she just wasn't his type.   
  
He wouldn't have thought so five days ago, or if he had, he wouldn't have admitted it. He had been firmly convinced that he was in love with Harley. He'd believed that right up until the moment he'd looked out the passenger side window of Tybalt's car and seen the other vehicle, a little Honda of some kind or another, approximately four feet away, and, as if they had been painted onto the windshield, the words, 'You love Cyanide Torres.'  
  
Then had come the crash, which was currently a jumbled mix of shattering glass and screaming metal in Skids' mind, and the pain, faint and far away, and a voice that he hadn't been able to place at the time but had since recognized as Tybalt's frantically asking if he was all right.   
  
'You love Cyanide, and now he'll never know,' Skids remembered thinking blankly. 'You'll never get to tell him, and you wasted the time you could have spent together because you were too damn stubborn to see the truth.'  
  
"Call Cya," he'd managed to croak aloud, fighting off the darkness swimming at the edge of his consciousness. "Number's in my phone. Tell him......tell him......" And then, apparently, he'd blacked out.  
  
The next thing he remembered was waking up in the hospital room. When he'd come to, he'd been greeted by many faces--Harley, who had been concerned and faking cheeriness, Tybalt, who'd been apologizing from the moment he'd opened his eyes, Mik, who'd been sympathetic and generously offered to take care of all his hospital bills and let Skids pay him back at his own pace, Rasheequa, who had been relieved and mildly remonstrating. But the one that really caught his attention was Cyanide, whose face had been so pale that he'd barely been recognizable. Their eyes had met across the room, and something had passed between them, something comforting and a promise edged with anticipation, though it wasn't clear who was reassuring whom.  
  
Skids felt like he'd been given a second chance. Granted, he wasn't sure what he was going to do about it or how Cyanide would feel when he did decide, but he knew he wasn't going to throw the opportunity away again. No, as soon as they let him out of this hospital, he was going to--  
  
"............Mr.DiAngelo?"  
  
Well, he wasn't going to zone out again like he just had, that was for sure. Skids slowly became aware that both the nurse and Cyanide were staring at him, expressions of concern on their faces, and he felt himself blushing. He had no idea how long he'd been gazing dreamily into space, but it had probably been far too long to pass off as trying to decide where the flowers should go. Though it never hurt to try.  
  
"Uh, I'd like them on the window sill, please," he stammered, and then noticed that the vase had already been placed there. Well. The mortification just didn't end, did it?  
  
"I asked if you were about ready for lunch," the nurse said slowly, frowning at him. "Are you feeling all right?"  
  
"Oh, yeah, I'm great," Skids chirped. "Just fine. Good enough to go home. But I'll stick around for lunch, I guess."  
  
She eyed him warily for a moment longer, then shrugged and smiled. "Okay. It'll be here soon. Call me if you need anything!"  
  
  
  
As soon as she was out the door, Cya turned to him with raised eyebrows. "What was that all about?"  
  
Skids studiously avoided looking at his friend. "What was what all bout?" he muttered, picking invisible lint off his blanket.  
  
"Well, you just completely zoned out. I'm assuming there's a reason."  
  
"I was just planning stuff to do when I get home." Well, that was at least half truthful. Just because one of those things that he wanted to do happened to be Cy himself.........Skids felt himself blushing again, and hurried on, hoping his friend wouldn't notice. "There's a lot of things I miss. You know, like my shirts and the spiders.......hard to believe, but at this point I'm actually thinking of them as cute."  
  
Cya's face brightened, and Skids mentally cheered. Good. He'd been successfully distracted. "That reminds me. I brought you something."  
  
He rummaged around in a plastic bag lying on the only chair in the room and finally straightened, waving two brightly colored objects in the air. "Ta da!" Cy exclaimed. "A box of seventy-two brand new, top-of-the-line crayons, including their own sharpener, and your favorite coloring book, which, if I may say so, features the most outlandishly ridiculous pictures of the Disney princesses that I've ever seen. Look, you've made them all virtual clones of Buffy, even Ariel. How Skids, how?"  
  
Horribly, Skids felt tears come to his eyes, and he blinked them back quickly. He couldn't let Cya see him cry, not when he'd just done something so wonderful. So he made sure his voice was steady (well, almost) when he said, "Thank you so much, Cy. It's the best thing anyone's ever done for me."  
  
"Oh, I don't know about that," Cy drawled, still teasing him. "What about that nurse and her doughnuts?"   
  
"Doughnuts have nothing on crayons," Skids answered solemnly, inwardly adding, 'Just like she has nothing on you.'  
  
There was no question about it, he thought determinedly, carefully opening his coloring book to an unmarked page and selecting a color. Judging by the sappiness of his thoughts, it was definitely time to develop and put into action a plan to seduce Cyanide Torres. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three  
  
At first Cyanide wasn't sure what had woken him up, but as he lay trying to summon the will to open his eyes, the fog slowly cleared from his brain, and he realized that someone was singing. Singing softly, in a voice pitched neither too low nor too high, with just a hint of a husky growl in it.   
  
"Let's go, don't wait, this night's almost over Honest, let's make this night last forever Forever and ever, let's make this last forever Forever and ever, let's make this last forever."  
  
He recognized the voice and the lyrics and smiled. Skids, belting out some Blink 182 at God only knew what time in the morning. With anyone else, it would be annoying, but this......this was just too adorable.  
  
Cyanide cracked an eye, fully intending to act put out at having been awakened, but the sight that greeted him stopped him cold. His best friend, sitting up in the hospital bed, sans cap, coloring book pages and crayons scattered all over the sheet, beaming at a piece of paper in his hand. Oh yes, and singing in what was very possibly the sexiest voice he'd ever heard.  
  
Cyanide was, against his will, enchanted, and he became even moreso when the hazel eyes focused so intently on the picture flicked up to meet his and stayed there, drawing him in.  
  
"When you smile, I melt inside I'm not worthy for a minute of your time I really wish it was only me and you I'm jealous of everybody in the room Please don't look at me with those eyes Please don't hint that you're capable of lies I dread the thought of our very first kiss A target that I'm probably gonna miss."  
  
Cyanide's breath caught in his throat, and he scowled inwardly. 'He isn't singing to *you*, idiot,' he told himself angrily. 'He's just singing and he happened to glance at you. There's a difference. Now stop acting like a schoolgirl with a crush.'  
  
"Good morning, Cya!" Skids chirped, having finished the song while Cy was mentally reprimanding himself. "Did you get a lot of sleep last night on the Fold-Out From Hell?"  
  
Cy grinned at his friend's all-too-accurate name for the tiny couch as he replied, "Are you kidding? I slept like a log. What about you?"  
  
He was lying, of course. He'd barely gotten any sleep at all last night, only this time, it wasn't entirely because he felt like he was relaxing on a rock. Given how exhausted he had been and still was, he didn't think a little physical discomfort could have kept him awake. The truth of the matter was, he'd stayed up until dawn replaying the same scene over and over again in his mind. Himself, bending over the comatose body in the hospital bed, watching the chest rise and fall slowly. Being aware that Skids' eyelashes were fluttering, knowing that he should step back from the bed, but unable to tear himself away. Watching the eyes open completely and seeing the strangest gleam appear in them, one that Cy didn't understand at all. There was something almost.....feral in that look. And the next thing he knew, Skids was kissing him on the cheek. Just a touch, just a brush, just one instant of sizzling, sparking contact, and then nothing.  
  
He'd been shocked. Sure, Skids had touched and hugged and even kissed him before, but this was different. He couldn't put his finger on how, exactly. He just knew that it was. And he had the nagging feeling that it was extremely important.  
  
He'd stood there for what seemed like an enternity, gaping at Skids and trying to find a way to make, "You can't ever do that again because I know you don't really mean it and it's killing me," sound less desperate and pathetic. And then, just when he'd gathered up his courage and opened his mouth, Skids had to pull out the wide eyes and the innocent blush and the sweet, sexy voice and say, "I missed you lots, Cya."  
  
There was no way he could be even mildly remonstrating after that. No one in history had ever prevailed against Skid's kicked-puppy look. So Cyanide gave in to the inevitable. He smiled, made a light, friendly joke, and just like that, things were back to normal. Well, as normal as they could be when you were in love with your best friend and he had no idea and you were supposed to be the straight one, dammit.  
  
He couldn't claim that title anymore, though. His feelings made it null and void. What would he call himself now? "The straight one, but he'll make an exception for Skids?" Also, apparently he'd started sending off gay signals or something, because he wasn't the only one who'd picked up on his little crush.  
  
Tybalt. Cy frowned, replaying another scene from yesterday that was responsible for his lack of sleep. The redhead come to visit Skids, as he'd promised. When he'd first walked in the door, Skids had shot Cya a fearful glance, probably wondering if his friend was going to blame the whole thing on Tybalt and possibly murder him with his bare hands. Cy couldn't really blame Skids. He had been acting kind of spastic lately. But witnesses had reported that the crash was in no way Tybalt's fault, so Cy couldn't be angry at him about that.  
  
However, he felt justified in being insanely jealous. After all, the guy DID seem to spend a lot of time with Skids. And he'd sent roses, which were a sign of eternal love, right? And, as much as Cy hated to admit it, Tyblat was very handsome in a arrogant, artistic kind of way, and obviously used to getting what he wanted.  
  
All of these factors put together equaled trouble for Cyanide, which was the reason he'd spent the entirety of Tybalt's visit yesterday glaring and grunting and just generally being possessive. He couldn't seem to help it. When he tried to stifle the feelings, he only came across as more hostile. And he'd done a lot of stifling. In fact, he probably shouldn't have been surprised when Tybalt asked if they could talk outside for a few minutes, but he was. He hadn't expected to be called on his behavior. But he agreed anyway, because he didn't want to upset Skids by refusing.  
  
"Look, you can cut the suspicious boyfriend crap," Tybalt had said in a low voice as soon as the door was closed behind them. "I get the picture. Skids is yours. I mess with him, I die. And so on and so forth."  
  
"I--I don't know what you mean," Cy stammered. "I'm not Skids' boyfriend."  
  
"Well, no, but you'd like to be, now wouldn't you?"  
  
Cyanide clamped his lips shut firmly, determined not to say anything. There was no way he was discussing such a delicate matter with a practical stranger. It was none of this man's concern what his relationship with Skids was, and he could just mind his own damn business. Starting now.  
  
"Fine, don't answer. You don't have to. Just look at how you act around him. Always laughing at his jokes and sympathizing when he's in pain and smiling at him in the sappiest way when you think no one's watching."  
  
"We're friends," Cy grated out through clenched teeth. "Friends do stuff like that."  
  
"Yeah?" Tybalt sneered. "Then what's with the jealous rage you fly into so easily? And what's with those looks you keep giving him?"  
  
Cyanide shifted uneasily. "What do you mean? What looks?"  
  
"Oh, you know," Tybalt drawled. "The ones where you stare at him lustily and it's perfectly obvious that you're dreaming of ripping all of his clothes off and ravishing him madly. Not that I can blame you," he continued thoughtfully, ignoring the blush that was spreading over Cya's face. "I mean, all he's wearing is that paper thin hospital gown, and he's got the greatest body, doesn't he? Hell, sometimes I'm tempted to jump him myself."  
  
Before he even knew what he was doing, Cy had slammed Tybalt against the wall and was practically snarling in the artist's face. "YOU STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM HIM!"  
  
Tybalt had the grace to look startled for a split second, and then he smirked. "Ah yes, this definitely proves to me that you're nothing but the very best of friends. You're so convincing, Torres."  
  
Realizing that he'd just been tricked into giving himself away, Cyanide slowly let go of the coat lapels, stepped away, and took a few deep breaths in an effort to calm himself. "What do you want?" he asked quietly a few moments later, when he thought he had most of his emotions under control. "I'm assuming you didn't call me out here just to taunt me."  
  
"No, which even I find rather surprising. Usually taunting people is my first order of business. That and seducing them. However, I have more important matters to see to this time."  
  
"Like?"  
  
"Like the fact that Skids is my friend, and I want him to be happy."  
  
"Hey, look, I'm not going to do anything to upset him," Cy protested angrily. "I'm not stupid. I know better than to come on to him. Especially right now."  
  
Tybalt smiled in a rather shark-like fashion. "Wrong again, I'm afraid. You see, I believe that not coming on to him is the worst thing you can do."  
  
There had been a moment of shocked silence. Then Cy demanded, "What are you talking about? Are you out of your mind?"  
  
"No, actually. I really think Skids would be happier if you *did* show a little interest in him. A lot happier."  
  
"You can't be serious. What makes you think that he would want something like that?"  
  
Tybalt shrugged, watching Cyanide's face flick from skeptical to angry to longing and back again. "You weren't there when the car crashed. I was."  
  
"So?"  
  
"So let's see if I can reconstruct the scene for you." Tybalt paused for a minute, gathering his thoughts, then continued. "Skids and I have just been in a major accident. A speeding automobile struck the passenger side of my car, knocking us to the side of the road. I'm shaken and a little scratched up, but when I finally orient myself enough to check, I can't find any broken bones, and nothing really hurts. So I turn to Skids, who, I notice, is slumped over in the seat, his shoulder twisted at an odd angle. I ask if he's all right, and he doesn't respond. I keep asking, praying he'll answer me, because I'm scared to touch him, to move him. I'm scared of what I might find. Finally, he stirs. I'm relieved until he sits up enough to look at me, and then I'm horrified. His eyes are glazed, unfocused, and his face is covered in blood. It's streaming from his lip, his nose, everywhere, and it's matted into his hair. I can tell he's trying to say something. His mouth is moving, but I can't hear a sound. Then he seems to gather his strength. He looks me and really sees me for the first time. And just guess what he says."  
  
Cy couldn't guess. He had no idea. He was too busy feeling his gut wrench at the thought of Skids being in so much pain.   
  
"He says, 'Call Cya. The number's in my phone. Tell him.....tell him....' and then he blacks out."  
  
The hospital corridor had been deafeningly still. Tybalt had seemed to be waiting for him to speak, but he was unable to. The thought of Skids bleeding and broken and asking for *him* had rendered Cyanide temporarily speechless. "I wanted to do what Skids asked, but it was more important to get him help," Tybalt continued, his voice quieter now, more reflective. "So I called for an ambulance. When one arrived, they loaded Skids onto a stretcher, and let me ride in the back with him. He came to briefly on the way to the hospital and asked for you again." "What.....what did he say?" Cy had to force the words out past the lump in his throat. "Well, you must understand that he wasn't very coherent. He mumbled a few things that I couldn't make out at first. Slurred the same word over and over. To me, it sounded a lot like Cyanide. Then he said, quite clearly, 'He doesn't know. I never told him. I never realized....I want to see Cyan again.'" "But what could he have to tell me?" Cy mused to himself, dark eyes confused and pained. "And if it was so important, why hasn't he mentioned it yet?" Tybalt sighed noisily. "Oh come on, it's not that hard. Guy rambles on about wanting to tell you something when he thinks he's going to die, but won't bring it up when it turns out he's not? He's obviously in love with you and too insecure to do anything about it." Cy had rolled his eyes. "Oh, obviously. Only someone as arrogant as you would think that way, you know that?" "Hey, I only told you that stuff to help Skids," Tybalt had declared, holding up his hands defensively. "Believe me, I get no personal gratification out of it at all, which, by the way, might be a first. You should feel honored. And I'm not just matchmaking or inventing things to try to create a false utopia for Skids. I really do think there's something there, and I'm only calling it like I see it." Calling it like he saw it. The memory made Cyan sigh. If that was the way the artist saw things, Cy wanted to trade eyes with him. Because the way he saw things, Skids didn't love him. Not any more than he loved, for example, Harley or chocolate ice cream.  
  
  
  
'Well, you can't really blame him, can you, Torres?' a little voice in his mind sneered nastily. 'After all, if you were Skids, would you be romantically interested in a guy like you?'  
  
No, he admitted silently. No, of course not. If he were Skids, he'd want someone just as bright and beautiful as he was. Not some scrawny, angsty punk who didn't even have the balls to tell his best friend that he was in love with him.  
  
His gloomy thoughts were intruded upon at that point by Skids himself, who had been describing a night that involved a lot of cartoons and crayons and very little actual sleep. Cy had been only half-listening, but he snapped back to the present when he heard his name. "Cya? Would you open the curtains, please? I think someone must have closed them during the night, and I want to see the sun." Then Skids smiled at him again, and, for a moment, he couldn't do anything but stare and wonder how he'd got lucky enough to have someone so gorgeous even as a friend.  
  
When he didn't move or speak at all, Skids' brow creased. "Are you okay?" he asked worriedly. "That couch didn't hurt your back or anything, did it?"  
  
  
  
Coming to his senses, Cy hastily sat up and swung his feet off the Fold-Out From Hell. "No, I'm just kinda slow in the mornings. Delayed reactions and all that." He thought it was a pretty good excuse, considering, and hurriedly moved to do as Skids had asked, standing up and brushing off his white, woven blanket.  
  
Too hurriedly. The loose weave in one corner snagged on his nipple ring as the rest of the quilt sagged heavily towards the ground,  
  
and Cya inhaled sharply. It always hurt like hell when that happened, and Skid's presence only added insult to injury.  
  
"Mierda, I hate it when I do that." He gathered the blanket off the floor with one hand and carefully removed the stray threads with the other. The painful yanking ceased, and he sighed in relief, tossing the coverlet into a chair. Then he turned to look at Skids, who hadn't made a sound since he'd stood up, which he found mildly disturbing.  
  
  
  
What he discovered puzzled him. His friend seemed to have forgotten his immediate surroundings and was staring, transfixed, at Cya's chest. Cy let his own gaze travel downward, wondering if he had an alien bursting out of there and didn't know it, but he didn't see anything that would warrant such careful scrutiny. He was about to ask what was so absorbing when Skids spoke and answered the question for him.  
  
"Dude....your nip ring is very.....shiny."  
  
Cyanide couldn't help laughing. The way he said it, coupled with the mesmerized glaze in his eyes, was simply priceless. "You want to touch it?" he invited, then mentally kicked himself. The absolute last thing he needed was the secret object of his lust touching his nipples.   
  
But when mesmerized became awed and Skids asked, "Could I really?" Cy didn't have the heart to deny him. So he stepped closer and submitted his ring for inspection, cursing himself silently and thinking that he should start sleeping in a shirt.   
  
At least until Skids touched his chest. Then he didn't do much thinking at all. About anything. He was too busy feeling as his ring was first flicked playfully, then tugged on, just a bit, then rubbed gently. That last made him bite the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood.  
  
"Shibby," Skids breathed finally, releasing the little bit of metal. "That's so shibby. Thank you for letting me play with it, Cy. Now will you open the curtains for me? Please?"  
  
"Huh?" Cy had completely forgotten about the curtains. What curtains? There were curtains around here?  
  
"To let the sun in," Skids explained patiently. "We need some light."  
  
  
  
"Oh. Yeah, sure." Cya backed away from the bed quickly, before he did something crazy, like leap into it and kiss Skids senseless. "No problem. Curtains." He crossed to the window in two long strides and pulled back the light drape hanging there to reveal black, stormy skies that promised about a zero percent chance of any sun that day.  
  
"Oh." Skids sounded disappointed for about a fraction of a second, then cheered up again. "That's okay, though. We don't have to have sunshine to color! Here, you color this picture, and I'll finish this one that I've been working on."  
  
Cy glanced down at the paper that was being held out to him, then up at Skids. The page featured two men in tights. They were smiling warmly at each other.  
  
Hmm. If he didn't know better, he'd say Skids was *trying* to drive him utterly insane.  
  
"It's Robin Hood and Little John. They're good friends," Skids explained seriously. "Just like you and me. Except....." a slight frown puckered the perfect brow for a moment, "Except I don't think Robin Hood had a nip ring for Little John to play with. But you can draw one on."  
  
Definitely trying to drive him insane, Cy decided, accepting the paper and some crayons wordlessly. And doing a damn fine job of it, too. 


	4. Chapter 4: THE SHOCKING CONCLUSION! Or n...

Chapter Four  
  
All Skid's life he'd been enthralled shiny things. Coins, mirrors, bottle caps, even the chrome on cars. You name it, he had been distracted by it. But the shiny object that had always fascinated him the most was Cya's nipple ring. Skids had wanted to touch that tiny circle of silver ever since his friend had first acquired it, but he'd never had the courage to ask. Somehow, even as close as they were, it felt like he'd be crossing a line. It would be too......too....*intimate*. Yes. Intimate. That was the word.   
  
So he'd contented himself with stealing quick glances at the ring when it wasn't covered by a shirt, which was fairly often, and he'd fantasized about touching it until the tips of his fingers itched. But he hadn't given in to that particular urge. Or the one to trace that dragon tattoo with his tongue. Or the one to stare shamelessly at Cy's chest until.....until......well, actually he had no idea what would happen. He'd never allowed himself the pleasure before, because if Cy caught him staring and got mad or freaked out or disgusted, he didn't think he could stand it.  
  
But now things were different. Now he was going to take chances and live on the edge. Or, well, fairly close to the edge, at least, Skids amended. Not that he wasn't still afraid of rejection. He was. He was terrified. But he was more afraid of going his entire life without knowing how Cya felt, of letting the man who could be the love of his life slip right through his fingers and not doing a damn thing to stop it.   
  
So the next time he caught a glimpse of the Cy shirtless, he gave in to his baser urges and didn't bother to drag his eyes away after the acceptable two seconds, and he'd come to three basic realizations. Those being a.) SleepySexyCy is not a sight for the weak at heart, b.) Or the weak at bladder. Skids had caught himself biting back giggles at Attack of the Hospital Blanket of Doom, as he'd decided to call it, and c.) Living fairly close to the edge can produce interesting results. Interesting in the sense of unbelievably hot and sensual.  
  
Skids sneaked a glance over the top of his coloring book at the boy perched on the Foldout from Hell, staring with intense concentration at the paper in his hand, and he grinned to himself. Cy'd put on a shirt. That could only mean one thing: He'd been just as affected as Skids had by their little moment! Or.....the grin wilted a little......Well, or maybe he was uncomfortable with Skids' fixation on his nip ring and wanted to remove the temptation, so to speak. Or maybe he was so utterly oblivious to the possibility of them as anything more than friends that he hadn't considered at all, and had simply wanted to put on a shirt.  
  
Damn. Maybe he should stop thinking about it so much.   
  
But then that was the thing about Cyanide, wasn't it? It was impossible to stop thinking about him.  
  
Gnawing at his bottom lip pensively, Skids let his eyes drift back down to his coloring book. He noticed a patch of sky that wasn't blue enough, and bent to fix the omission.  
  
Okay. Assume that Cy liked him too, but didn't want to say anything because he wasn't sure of Skids' feelings. Well, that......Skids felt a smile tug at his mouth.......that would be really shibby, first off, but how could he find out for sure?  
  
Option one: he could ask point-blank. Skids squinted at the sky critically and replaced the blue crayon in the box as he considered this. Right now, right this very second, he could open his mouth and ask Cyanide how he felt. But if it Cy went all reticent? Or got too embarrassed? Or simply didn't want him? Skids winced at the thought. It would hurt too much to hear those words spoken aloud. There had to be a less potentially painful way.  
  
So, option two: he could develop a devious and cunning plan to weasel the truth of his best friend without making it obvious what he was doing, possibly playing on his injuries for sympathy.  
  
Hmph. Only one problem with that little scenario, Skids reflected ruefully. He didn't do devious and cunning. Was fairly sure he *couldn't* do devious and cunning, even if he tried.  
  
Discouraged that the two possible ideas he'd had wouldn't work and bemoaning the fact that he'd have to come up with something else, thus wasting valuable seduction time, Skids slumped a little in the hospital bed and sighed loudly.   
  
"Skids?"   
  
Cy's voice. Skids jerked upright, startled out of his thoughts, and turned his attention to his best friend, who was eyeing him with mild concern. "Yeah, Cy?"  
  
"Are you feeling okay, dude? I mean, you've gotten really quiet on me."  
  
Skids made a note not to sink too deeply into his planning again. "I'm fine. Just a little tired of this place, I guess." He shrugged. "It gets boring, having to stay in the same spot for days on end. But hey, I'll be out of here soon, right? Plus, I get all the free Jello I want." Skids grinned.   
  
Cyan studied him for a moment silently, making Skids wonder if he were psychic and fully aware of what was really preoccupying his friend's mind. When he spoke, it was in a softer and more subdued tone than Skids had ever heard from him. "You don't have to do that, you know."  
  
"Do....do.....what?" Skids asked, puzzled.  
  
"You don't have to pretend to be happy when you're not. You can be irritable and cranky and restless. I'll still be your friend." Cy had that intense look on his face again, only this time it was overshadowed by something softer, like he was trying to crack open a particularly important egg without shattering the shell into a million pieces. "That's part of what being friends is about, Skids. When we're sad or angry or just plain fed up, we don't hide it from each other. We take the bad with the good."  
  
"But Cy.....I know I don't have to pretend anything around you. And I don't, really. I just *am* happy. You make me that way." And maybe that sounded stupid and corny, but it was the truth, and Skids was glad he had said it. Not the least because Cy was now practically beaming at him.  
  
It was right on the tip of his tongue then, to say it, to tell Cy everything, but, fortunately or unfortunately, there was a soft knock at the door, and Harley came tiptoeing in, clutching a vase of tulips.  
  
"Hi guys," he mumbled, peering around anxiously, as if he expected a corpse to jump out at him any moment.  
  
"Hi, Harley," Skids returned, giggling at his friend's apprehensive behavior. "You know, this is a hospital room, not a funeral home. You don't have to whisper."  
  
"Oh, I know," Harley said sheepishly, his voice rising to the level of stage whisper. "I'm just.....still leery of this place, I guess."  
  
"It's not so bad, once you get used to it," Skids assured him. "Especially since Cy brought me my coloring book." He nodded at the crayons scattered over the sheets.  
  
Immediately, Skids sensed tension in the air, though he wasn't sure where it had come from. Harley turned towards the foldout slowly, almost reluctantly, and grinned in a decidedly strained fashion. Cy didn't bother to return the smile. Instead, his face rigid, he nodded stiffly, then announced, "I'm going to get some coffee from the cafeteria. Does anyone want anything?"  
  
"No thanks, breakfast should be by soon," Skids demurred absently, looking back and forth between his two friends. What was going on here? What was with the angry vibe he was getting?  
  
As soon as Cy was out the door, Harley let his shoulders sag and set the vase of tulips down with a sigh. Skids watched reflectively. Something was definitely up, and he intended to find out what.  
  
"Thanks for the flowers," he said cautiously.  
  
Harley waved a hand dismissively, still looking dejected. "You're welcome. They're less of a get-well-soon and more of a sorry-I-didn't-visit-  
  
when-I-said-I-would, though."  
  
"Wha--oh, you mean yesterday?" Skids asked, vaguely recalling that Harley had mentioned coming to the hospital with Cy in one of their phone conversations. "Don't worry about it, Harls. To tell the truth, I'd completely forgotten."  
  
Harley perked up a bit. "I was going to come, I really was, and then, out of the blue, Mik surprised me with this awesome picnic, and I couldn't tell him no. He'd worked so hard on it and bought candles and all sorts of romantic food."  
  
Skids tried to supress the slight twinge of jealousy he felt; not because Mikhael and Harley were together, but because they were so obviously in love. "Sounds great, dude. I don't blame you for not coming. Who'd want to spend time here when you could be doing something like that? And it's not as if I'm in danger of dying or anything."  
  
"See, that's what I told Cy," Harley began excitedly, pleased at having found an ally. "But he was all pissed and--"  
  
"What? Is *that* what's going on with you two?" Skids broke in incredulously. "Cy's mad at you cause you couldn't visit?"  
  
"Yeah. Insane, isn't it?"  
  
"Well......yes, but also sweet."  
  
"Speak for yourself," Harley grimaced. "I was hoping he'd be over it by now, but I guess not. I wonder how long he's going to stay mad at me." He looked depressed again for a minute, but quickly shook it off. "Oh well. I just hope this mood he's in hasn't been making you feel even worse."  
  
"No, actually he's been......really great," Skids answered honestly, glancing over at the rumpled sheets on the Foldout from Hell. "He's slept on that contraption almost every night, if you can believe it, and I've rarely had to resort to hospital food. Every time I get down about having to be here, he cheers me up and keeps me entertained. I really don't know what I would do without him. He's so shibby."  
  
By the time he finished, Harley was staring at him with what could only be called speculation and, too late, Skids realized that he'd probably gotten tellingly glazed-eyed and sappy-smiled. He quickly looked down, watching his fingers twist themselves into his blanket nervously as he waited for his friend to call him on it.  
  
Sure enough, after a few agonizing seconds of silence, Harley said softly, "Skids, is there something going on between you and Cyan?"  
  
Without looking up, Skids shook his head vigorously.  
  
The next question was even softer, so quiet that it could barely be heard over the hum of hospital machinery. "Do you want there to be something going on?"  
  
Skids started to shake his head again instinctively, then stopped and slowly nodded.  
  
"I see." There was a long pause, during which Skids wished he could spontaneously combust. Then, "Well, why the hell haven't you done something about it?"  
  
Skid's head snapped up so quickly he felt his neck pop, and he stared at Harley, who was grinning wickedly, in sheer amazement. "But...I-I mean, you......you think I should do something?"  
  
"Well of course!" Harley exclaimed. "You have to let him know how you feel, dude!"  
  
"That's not what I meant. *I* know I have to tell him. I'm just surprised that you agree."  
  
Harley shrugged, looking, for a moment, a bit mysterious. But the expression was gone almost as quickly as it had come, and he was asking mischievously, "So, have you decided how you're going to drop the bomb?"  
  
"Not exactly. I thought about being blunt and just laying out the facts. But I decided that was way too potentially painful. For both of us."  
  
Harley nodded in agreement. "I'd say you're probably right. Any other ideas?"  
  
"Well....." Skids hesitated, then confessed, "I also thought of weaseling out how Cy feels through a devious and cunning process, perhaps milking my injuries a little, but I'm not too good at that stuff."  
  
"That's why you got me," Harley declared firmly. "I think you've got the makings of a great weaseler in you. You just need a little push in the right direction. Now, let's think. How can we combine your strengths into a really kick-ass plan?"  
  
Skids frowned thoughtfully. "That depends on what my 'strengths' are. Care to enlighten me?"  
  
"Obviously, your injuries," Harley said, ticking them off on his fingers. "I'm sure we can use those somehow. Then there's your unassuming charm."  
  
Skids snorted. "'Unassuming charm?'"  
  
"Hey, I'm serious. You're the type who can make people fall in love with you without even trying."  
  
"Well, it hasn't happened yet," Skids muttered, still looking slightly amused.  
  
Harley quirked an eyebrow. "Don't be too sure. Now, where was I? Oh yes, your injuries, your unassuming charm, your looks...."  
  
"My 'looks'? Okay, now that's really stretching it, Harls."  
  
Harley looked indignant on Skids' behalf. "What, do you think you're ugly or something?"   
  
"Well, no," Skids admitted. "I guess I don't. I just think I'm.....average."  
  
It was Harley's turn to snort. "Average, my ass. You're gorgeous. And we can definitely use that to our advantage......."  
  
By the time Cy came back with his coffee, the two had developed what Harley termed a "masterful" plan. Skids termed it "crazy." But he was willing to go along with it, because Harley had sworn up and down it was foolproof, and after all, what did Skids know about seducing people? He just hoped to hell it would work.  
  
Much later, after Harley had gone home, Skids reflected on the day and prepared to put his plan into action. Luckily, Cy had softened towards Harley when he saw that Skids truly wasn't angry about the missed visit, and they'd been able to have a good time. Skids had made the most of it, because it might be the last time they all hung out together. After all, who knew how Cy would react to the "foolproof" plan? He might try to let Skids down easy and say that if either of them suddenly swapped genders, maybe they could work something out. Or, well. He might not want to be friends any more.  
  
Trying to swallow the pain that thought brought with it, Skids glanced at the clock. Hmmm. Five eleven. If he was going to make a move, five eleven seemed as good a time as any to do it. Besides, if he didn't hurry and go through with the plan, he was afraid he'd chicken out.  
  
So he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and plunged in to his opening line headfirst: "Cycouldyagimmieahand?"  
  
Cyanide, who had been staring out the window at the city lights, turned quickly, eyebrows raised. "Huh? Sorry, man, I didn't catch that. Guess I'm a little distracted."  
  
'Yes, maybe, or maybe I've suddenly turned into the world's biggest spaz,' Skids thought despairingly. But he valiantly took a deep breath, made himself look right into that attentive, sexy face, and said slowly, "I asked if you could give me a hand with something."  
  
"If it's humanly possible, I'm on it," Cy vowed. "And even if it's not, I'll make an effort. What do you need?"  
  
'You.' Skids ached to say it, but refrained, remembering The Plan. Instead, he sat up and carefully pushed his legs over the side of the bed. "Um, I have to go to the bathroom, and well, I hate to ask you this, but there's always been a nurse around before, and my leg is really throbbing, plus I don't know how steady I'll be after lying in this bed for so long and--"   
  
"Skids," Cya broke in gently. "Are you saying you need some help to get to the bathroom?"  
  
A blush rose in his cheeks faster than he had believed possible, but he forced himself to nod. "I--If you can just help me to the door, I think I'll be fine."  
  
"No problem." Cy rose from the foldout and made his way over to the bed. Standing in front of Skids, he hesitated for a moment, then placed his hands at either side of the other boy's waist. "When you're ready, slide forward a little to get your feet under you, and then I'll lift up."  
  
'When you're ready.' Skids almost laughed, knowing that he would never be ready for what he was about to do. But he was forging on. He'd gotten this far. If he could just keep up his courage.......He slid forward until his toes hit the floor and began to push himself up. He could feel Cy's hands guiding him, supporting him, and he was frankly surprised at how much he really seemed to need them. He wouldn't have believed his legs would be so weak and rubbery, but they felt likely to collapse at any moment and his bruise really was throbbing. Oh well. He supposed it would make The Plan that much easier.  
  
When he was standing, Cy moved to one side, gripping his right arm, and they began to shuffle slowly towards the bathroom. Skids could feel his mouth going dry and palms getting sweaty in anticipation of what he was about to do, but he purposefully ignored them. Just a few more steps.....past the bed and chair, so there would be nothing else to grab for.....a little further......damn, this was insane......no time for that now, though.........a little further....and......now!  
  
Skids let himself stumble, let the jelly feeling in his knees and the dizziness in his head take over. Off-balance, he reached desperately for the only solid object within his grasp that would keep him from falling: Cyanide. Immediately (and according to plan, he might add), Cy's arms closed around him protectively, steadying him and pulling him close. Very close.   
  
And suddenly, The Plan didn't seem complicated in the least. On the contrary, it was the most natural thing in the world to plaster his body against his best friend's and refuse to budge, to wind his arms around Cya's neck and bury his face his Cya's throat.  
  
For a few heartbeats, there was silence. Skids was too busy enjoying this new position he'd found himself in, and Cy, he decided, was too busy trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Just so there could be no mistaking his intentions, Skids pressed himself even closer and, impulsively, wiggled his hips suggestively against Cy's. And promptly blushed, knowing the hospital gown concealed approximately zilch.  
  
"Skids," Cyan finally croaked, and Skids was pleased to note that his voice was uncharacteristically hoarse. "Skids, what, exactly, are you doing?"  
  
The Plan, at this point, called for him to giggle and say something along the lines of, "Why, seducing you, of course." Then, Harley had claimed, Cy would be driven mad with lust for him and Skids would have to beat him off with a stick to get rid of him. Despite all Harls's assurances, however, this was the part of The Plan that Skids was the least sure of. Giggling? At a time like this? It felt too much like treating the whole thing as a joke, and Skids was more serious than he'd ever been in his life.  
  
Uncertain, he tipped his head back to look into Cy's face, and his stomach turned over at his friend's expression. It was part anger, part confusion, part fear, but mostly pain. Deep, gut-wrenching pain that hit Skids like a bucket of cold water in the face, and suddenly, his mind was made up. To hell with The Plan. He was going with his instincts, and his instincts told him there was no way he could make a game out of this while Cy looked like that.  
  
So he didn't even try. Instead, he did what felt natural, what felt right: he leaned close enough to Cy that he could see the golden flecks in the dark eyes, could count them individually, and he breathed, "I really like your nip ring, Cya."  
  
Cy swallowed. Hard. Skids followed the slight bobbing motion with his eyes, mildly fascinated, then let them flick back up when Cyanide spoke, his voice trembling almost as badly as Skids' hands were. "Don't play with me like this, Skids."  
  
Play? Skids stared incredulously. *Play?* He was *playing*? What the hell? Did Cy think he went around falling all over random men and breathing in their faces and complimenting them on their various piercings?  
  
"You do it all the time," Cy insisted, seeing the disbelief on Skid's face. You'll say something or look at me a certain way or touch me, and I know you don't mean anything by it. I know that. But you have no idea what you're doing to me, and--and I can't take it anymore. Please stop teasing me, Ski--"  
  
Skids interrupted the flow of words by brushing their lips together tentatively, adding an inquiring little lick at the corner of Cy's mouth. "*Not*.....playing," he mumbled, refusing to back up an inch, though the close proximity was screwing his coherency. "'M totally serious. Wouldn't tease you, Cy......love you." And wasn't that amazing? The words he thought he'd never be able to say, the ones he'd dreaded saying, had just popped out of his mouth without a thought.  
  
There was a brief silence, then Cy drew in a long, shuddering breath. "You.....you.....you......*what*?" He sounded shocked.  
  
Skids reluctantly pulled back an inch or two so that he could speak properly; he didn't want what he was about to say to be misunderstood. "I love you," he repeated clearly. "I think I have for a long time, and I just didn't realize it. But I know what I want now. The only thing is....." Skids hesitated, then forged ahead. "I'm not sure how you feel. The fact that you aren't punching me right now is encouraging, but I--"  
  
Abruptly, Cy wrenched himself away, eyes wide and frantic, and Skids stopped speaking, feeling his heart twist. His arms fell limply to his sides; the hope that had been blossoming inside him died a quick, painful death. For a moment there, he'd thought.....well, never mind what he'd thought. It didn't matter, did it? Cy didn't want him. He could feel his knees trembling, knew that he was going to fall if he didn't sit down soon, but he couldn't bring himself to care. What did it matter if he fell? So what if he hurt himself more? He wanted to hurt himself. He wanted to die.  
  
Or at least, he did until Cy grabbed the bottom of his black T-shirt, yanked it over his head, and came stalking back across the tiled floor with a look on his face that could only be described as predatory.  
  
"I, um," Skids squeaked uncertainly, and then Cy was kissing him like it was the only chance he'd ever get. Somewhere, in some vague plane of his mind, he was aware that his injured shoulder was being squeezed so hard that it hurt, but that wasn't important. He really couldn't care less, not as long as Cy kept stroking the roof of Skid's mouth with his tongue and tasting like sweet butterscotch candy and....God, just being Cy.  
  
However, Cy himself did seem to care, because he pulled back suddenly, exclaiming, "Shit, I'm sorry, Skids. I forgot about your shoulder. Did I hurt you?"  
  
"Not nearly as badly as I'm going to hurt you if you don't kiss me again," Skids replied, trying to sound threatening but ending up with mostly just breathless.  
  
Cy smirked at him and leaned closer to do as ordered, this time being careful not to grip Skid's shoulder. Just before their lips met he whispered, "And oh yeah, I love you too."  
  
Skids could feel himself grinning against Cy's mouth, and when Cy grabbed his hand an instant later and placed it flat on his chest, the smile only got wider. He really did like that nipple ring.  
  
Cy was enjoying what was possibly the best kiss of his life, topped perhaps only by the one before it, when he heard the door open. His immediate reaction was to spring away from Skids and play innocent, but in the next second, he discarded that idea as pointless. Whoever was standing in the doorway had already seen them, and besides, walking away from a ready and willing Skids took more willpower than he'd ever have.  
  
He could not, however, stop his eyes from flying open instinctively, and what he saw made him stiffen in fear. The formidable nurse that had approached him in the hall yesterday stood in the doorway, watching them with an inscrutable look on her face. Cy half-expected her to come charging across the room and body slam him, but she did no such thing. Instead, she....Cy blinked in sheer amazement.....she actually *smiled*, turned away, and closed the door behind her on her way out.  
  
Well damn. Cy closed his eyes again and got back down to business, reflecting that when someone like that finds something to smile about, you know it's got to be good. 


End file.
